


trust me (i’m a doctor)

by boychik



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Canon Divergence, Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Wounds, injury tending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychik/pseuds/boychik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is gentle, unhurried, here on the roof, the meeting of two boys from two different dimensions. Their fascinations bring them together, time and time again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trust me (i’m a doctor)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yrindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yrindor/gifts).



> I had the pleasure of writing a Durarara!! fic for Yrindor. I was so happy when I saw the chance to fulfill the prompt about Shinra and Izaya tending each others’ wounds. I hope you like it! Gotta love these Ikebukuro nerds ♡
> 
> Yrindor wrote: “This is very much my guilty pleasure request for this exchange. I love injury-tending hurt/comfort dynamics, so I'd love to see something where either Izaya is hurt and forced to come to Shinra for treatment, or where Shinra is hurt and Izaya takes over treatment (especially if it's a case of Izaya taking over because Shinra was trying to do it himself).”

Shinra is cutting carrots in the kitchen. Slowly, methodically, the _snip snip snip_ growing slightly faster as the leaves and cylindrical cross-sections fall away.

Why had he said that to her? Twenty-four years on this planet and still an idiot. His annoyance had disappeared, replaced by a frantic, rising wave of panic as Celty stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut with a piece of black cloud. He left it unlocked for her, in case she left her keys behind and wanted to come in quietly.

This argument was sudden but not quite surprising. They hadn’t been fighting much these days, but there was a strange tension between them. He wanted nothing more than to run right out of the room and catch her round the waist and apologize, but the last time he’d tried that it didn’t go well.

He had tried to grab an errant tendril, only to find her angrier than before. _You need to leave me alone right now, Shinra,_ she had wrote. Her smoke was impenetrable but she was clearly holding back. It’s something he loved about her, her levelness and precision. Her sense of restraint, and her sense of judgment and justice. From that day on he knew better than to chase after her when they fought. _So I’ll make a salad_ , he thought, _I’ll cut these carrots and then marinade the sandfish, I like that and we both like that and she won’t be so angry when she comes back—_

All of a sudden the front door bursts open and Izaya is standing there, hanging his skinny self off the doorframe. He’s breathing as though he's just run, a rare sight.

Shinra yelps and slices his finger with the knife. “Orihara-kun, what the hell!”

“Your girlfriend almost ran me over,” Izaya says. “Look at me.” He runs his hands down his jacket, mock brushing himself off, and plops down into Shinra’s chair and swivels a couple rotations in anger.

What a drama queen. “It’s nice to see you again,” Shinra says, and slightly regrets his overly caustic tone. He hasn’t seen Izaya in what, two weeks? He’s glad he’s here instead of charming suicidal girls onto rooftops or chloroforming teenagers or incessantly goading Shizuo or whatever his hobby du jour has become.

“Oh wait, no, look at you,” Izaya says. Shinra looks down.

 _What a thrill—_  
_My thumb instead of a carrot._

The pain is dull until he looks down and sees the blood pouring from his finger. Bright red running down his wrist and staining the cuff of his pristine coat. Pretty damn beautiful if you cared about aesthetics, but what a pain it would be to soak and scrub out the stains.

“Jesus, Shinra, look at you.” Izaya hurries over. “This is truly gross.” He’s reaching under the sink for where Shinra keeps one of many first aid kits stashed around the house.

“I’m already a doctor, I can do it—”

“Shinra, you’re getting blood everywhere, stop it—”

And he was, the blood flinging onto his neatly chopped carrots.

“Hey, I just need to wash my finger—” Blood, dripping.

Izaya’s patching him up with a first-aid kit bandage. “This is a dull knife,” he says to Shinra. “You need something sharp, like this.” He pops out his switchblade, flicks it open and shut a couple times, as if to say, _See?_

“You think I don’t know that?” Shinra snapped. “I know about knives, I know everything about knives, I’ve been doing dissections since we were kids—”

“Dissections,” Izaya says, and a smirky smile creeps back on his face. “I’ve done dissections a long time too. Perhaps of a different nature...”

“Oh, come off it,” Shinra says, but he has to admit Izaya’s done a pretty good job of disinfecting and wrapping the gash in his thumb. Despite his love of the camly invigorating sense of control he feels when treating patients, somehow getting patched up feels better when someone else does it. The bandage neater, tighter, and cleaner. He looks up at his old friend. “Thanks, Orihara-kun.”

“Anytime,” Izaya says, sliding off the countertop and heading back around. “Anyway, I’m gonna beat it before Celty gets back but...see you around?”

“Yeah, of course. Come by whenever.”

“Enjoy your blood salad.” Izaya winks.

Shinra smiles and holds up his bandaged hand. “See you around, Orihara-kun.”

***

“The human mind?” Shinra looks at him quizzically. “What’s the beauty in a thing like that?”

His new friend is swimming in his lab coat. Perhaps his lack of a body stirred his perverse interest in the corporeal? “It’s the most fascinating thing,” Izaya starts, “humans really are insanely interesting creatures—”

They are standing apart from the rest of their classmates, but their voices carry as small packs of students trickle out of the classroom. “Their insides are interesting,” Shinra argues. “Most people are predictable till something goes wrong with their insides, and then boom, they’re wild—oh my god, what’s happened, how do we fix me—”

Shinra’s in another dimension, dreaming of gleaming viscera and carving up skin. Izaya can’t say he understands, which is exactly why he says: “I don’t want to join your club. But I’ll stay.”

“Yes!” Shinra claps his hands together. “When would you like to have the first meeting? Oh, I guess since I’m the president, now would be a good time! The VP spot is open, of course...” And he tosses Izaya a meaningful glance.

Izaya says nothing but moves closer. “Let’s see what you got there, then.”

Shinra unveils the item he’s been shuffling around the school. “A Venus flytrap,” he says proudly. “The world’s most famous carnivorous plant. I got it from a specialty store, they ship them from America all around the world! Anyway, it’s really cool, it’s got a special hair-trigger set-up so it will only eat certain insects but the mechanism won’t allow for mistakes...”

As Shinra drones on, Izaya examines the plant. He’s never seen anything like it before. It’s a lovely rosy red and green, somewhat bombastic-looking, with such funny spiky hairs. He wonders if it would bite a human. Because he’s thirteen, he sticks his finger in its jaws. Shinra quickly snatches it out. “Hey, that’s not nice!”

“I want to feed it flies,” Izaya says. “If it can’t eat my finger.”

“By all means,” Shinra says, gesturing to the empty classroom. “The world is yours.”

It’s Izaya’s first day of school, his first day to see a Venus flytrap, his first day to collect dead bugs from the sills and floors of their Raijin classroom, and his first day to make a friend.

***

Izaya is lying in the street, staring up at the streetlights. “Humans are so interesting,” he babbles to himself. “Absolutely fascinating...”

He brings his hand up to his face. Gingerly, he assesses the damage. A little sore, a little swollen—but who was he to shy from pain? He presses harder into his cheek, winces when his fingertips come away red. The girl did a number on him.

Ikebukuro is usually crowded at this late-night early-morning hour, filled with teenaged students and drunk salarymen and conspicuous gangsters muscling past the rest. Now he can’t see anyone at all, such is the shining and whizzing in his head under the bright lights.

“I’m not gonna play your shitty games anymore!” the girl had screamed. Slashed him once across the cheek, and slammed the blunt end of her switchblade into Izaya’s temple. Stepped on his body and stolen his shit. An amazing human. Truly amazing.

The night sky is blurring. His cheek is throbbing. His head too. He has to get up. Get up. And walk. He staggers forth, hardly knowing where he’s going. But an agonizing hike later he’s knocking on Shinra’s door, winded and asking for help.

“Again, Orihara-kun? Come here and stay still,” Shinra commands.

Izaya lays there, but he keeps talking. “She was really an amazing girl, Shinra, you should have seen her. She took a real swing at me, and she actually connected! Usually these girls have no power in their arm, and no knife in their hand, and their punches just fall short...”

“Hit and robbed. And cut, too. This is worse than last time,” Shinra mutters. “You must have really pissed her off.”

“Oh, and this bitch, not only was she strong, she took my money too,” Izaya says. “Ripped the wallet straight from my pocket. Good thing it was my decoy or I’d really be pissed. They’re all counterfeit bills. God, she was incredible. I’m so tired now, Shinra. But she was invigorating. I wonder if she’ll get arrested? Sliced and diced. What a savage mind she has...”

Shinra is concentrating on applying gauze to the side of Izaya’s head. “You’re the one who’s gonna get arrested if you don’t be careful. Half this town is gonna hunt you down and wail on you if you’re not careful.”

“It’s worth it,” says Izaya dreamily. “I’m gaining so much information every day...things I never knew...”

“Me too,” says Shinra. “Orihara-kun, you’re one of a kind. But maybe,” here he smiles, “I already knew that.”

Izaya mumbles a little more, tries to press his fingers into his cheek. Shinra pulls his hand away once, and again, and cleans and lays a bandage over the wound.

“You’re all done,” Shinra says. “Take off the compress in ten minutes. If you want to sleep I’ll check up on you.”

“Thanks,” Izaya says, his queer personal brand of happiness-derived-from-misery shining through his expression. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Back to the streets with you,” Shinra jokes. “No, of course. Stay as long as you like. At least here I know you won’t get murdered by a teenage girl.”

“You’re the best, Shinra,” Izaya says, collapsing onto Shinra and Celty’s couch. He is suddenly so weary from getting knocked in the head, his voice is getting softer now. “The best friend I ever had.”

“Good night, Orihara-kun,” Shinra says. “I’ll check up on you later.”

In the morning, Izaya is gone.

***

“Oh, Orihara-kun,” Shinra says, looking up from the text he was reading and shielding his eyes from the sun. “What happened to you?”

Izaya approaches, vaguely bloodied and bruised and clutching one arm. “It was a fight,” he says, sliding down the wall to sit next to Shinra. “That Shizu-chan is stronger than he looks!”

Shinra closes his book. “I wonder what you did,” he says.

“Oh, you know,” Izaya says breezily, “We were just playing. But that Shizu-chan gets so easily offended.” He leans his head against the brick and sighs. “It’s really quite fascinating.”

Orihara Izaya. Somehow you’re like this, Shinra wonders. He takes out his mini first-aid kit. “Let’s see what we can do.”

This is gentle, unhurried, here on the roof, the meeting of two boys from two different dimensions. Their fascinations bring them together, time and time again.

***

The next time is not the last time, but it is perhaps the worst time.

“I stabbed you,” Izaya says, not looking Shinra in the eye. Instead he’s staring into Shinra’s open wound, where the knife cut through the skin and narrowly missed his internal organs.

“No,” says Shinra. “Tape, please.”

“I did,” Izaya insists. “Say I did it.”

“No. About a centimeter lower, please.” Izaya repositions the tape. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

This time Izaya looks him in the eye. “I stabbed you. Not that piece of shit Nakura. It was me.”

“No,” says Shinra. “What are you saying?" His eyes are glazed over. He's breathing heavily.

“Nakura’s gonna pay,” Izaya says, and looks up with Shinra’s favorite evil smile. “He’s gonna regret this for the rest of his life.”

“That’s what I love about you, Orihara-kun,” Shinra sighs. “You always know what to say."

"And you always know what to do," Izaya says, medical tape in hand, ignoring Shinra's hisses of pain.

"So it's you who stabbed me. Now please, take me to the hospital.”

And so they go.


End file.
